Goodbye is Forever
by JuJuBe111
Summary: A pretty depressing story. Was gonna be my last one, but I'm too big of a nerd to give this stuff up. :p Read stuff on my new name: the laws of transitivity


**This is going to be my last fanfiction. Nyltiak and Ed's Tomato can finish my other stories if they'd like to.**

**I don't own the X-Men.**

**Goodbye is Forever**

Mortimer Toynbee sat against the cold steel wall of the cell. He got the steel prison cell because they didn't trust him in the normal ones. Nothing normal for Toad. It could have been flattering if it didn't prevent him from escaping and venting his anger on the world.

The room was essentially gray. The walls were that unfeeling glassy color that steel usually takes. The gray slot for sliding food into was underused and hard to open. The frame of the bed was rusted, but still held its gray hue. The unchanged sheets on the mattress were supposed to be white, but after two months of use, they too had dimmed to the unpleasant shade. There were no blankets. He hadn't asked why because he knew it would do no good. It got cold in the room, but never enough to send him into shock, so it was fine. He himself was looking unusually gray. The usually vibrant jade tone of his skin had faded from hunger and illness. Maybe it wasn't just physical weariness that had caused his whole appearance, not just his skin, but that mischievous glint in his eyes, to dim. He was tired- tired of fighting, tired of losing, tired of living. Each day, he'd stare out of his gray room into the gray hallway at the gray guards with their black hearts.

It's not that Toad was a saint- far from it!- but he could never be as heartless to break people like this. They beat him, sure, but that wasn't the pain he felt all the time. The bruises ached and the cuts bled and the concussions made the room spin. They all healed, though. The words that came with the beatings left deeper bruises than the nightsticks. The look of disgust and loathing in the guards' eyes as the door was locked was more gruesome a sight to Mort than any of his wounds. He occasionally found himself longing to be brought out for his daily 'lesson' because it was better than this loneliness, this bitter nothing that he faced in the cell and in the depths of his own troubled psyche.

"Get up you venomous sack of shit," hissed the guard, tapping harshly on the metal. Mortimer's head rolled to the side lazily, as if by great effort. It was the man with the beard that stood outside. His graying tangled mass traveled from his chin and up into the safety of his security guard hat. The man had cold gray eyes, set deep in troubled wrinkles. He was by far the cruelest of them all. His words were viscous and well-placed. He had brought Toad to sobbing on multiple occasions, though he would never know it. The tears were saved for those long stretching hours when he was alone. The man's beatings were given with less force, as his energy had drained with age. This, at least, was good, as the enfeebled mutant had been weakened to near paralysis recently.

He stumbled onto his hands and knees before straining to push himself into standing. The bearded man eyed him skeptically, believing that this was an act of deception and not of sickness. "Against the bars, mutie!" the old man barked at him. Mortimer stepped so that his back pushed against the cold, metal bars, and waited silently to be muzzled. Next, his hands were snapped into handcuffs for a man much smaller than him. He hissed as the metal cut into his forearms. The door was slid open, and the dead-eyed prisoner was led down a long, gray hall which was all too familiar.

They reached the tiny windowless room in silence. Mortimer was shoved to the floor of the room without question. "Git off the floor yah fuckin' worthless freak! Don' act so weak as yah aren't, lowlifin' sonuva bitch!" growled the guard, as he set down his bag.

As soon as Mort managed his way onto his knees, the nightstick fell on the small of his back, and he was face down once more. The old man let out a strained wheeze of breath while hauling his victim to his feet by his collar. His nose almost touched the muzzle when he pulled the prisoner closer. "You disgust me. Your kind is a mistake of nature meant tah make us good people vomit," he spat. His fist flew up into Mortimer's stomach without mercy. He dropped the collar, and backhanded him across the jaw bone. Another fist flew unexpectedly at the mutant's right eye. The blow sent him sprawling across the floor, next to the guard's bag.

The bearded man was laughing his ass off at the spectacle, laughs turning into wheezes. Mort rolled his head to the side to see a disposable Gillette razor poking out of the side pocket of the satchel. He jammed it into his pocket discretely as the old guard caught his breath. "Pathetic," snarled the guard, "don't even put up a fight anymore, shitface. Takes all the fun out of it."

They were done for the day. Mortimer was returned to his cell with a few foul-mouthed comments from his escort. The man was sick. Mort could see that as he left. That was why the beating had been so quick, so easy. The door into his section of the jail was clicked shut, and the green prisoner was once again sent into painful silence.

He drew the little razor out of his pocket, thankful out of his mind for the small gift. He relished in the color for a minute before ripping the razor blades out of the plastic with ravenous fervor. The blades were gray as well, but this didn't matter. Mort held out his left forearm solemnly, and drew the small weapon across the skin. There was a slight sting, but it was a pleasant feeling. It was as if he had been holding a balloon inside of him, and all of the pressure that he'd built up was released. The droplets that ran down his arm and to the floor were a luscious crimson. He stared at awe as his disgusting, greenish-brownish-gray skin produced so pure and vibrant a color. It was magnificent and lush. The cut gushed the droplets, pushing them out like ruby tears.

He wanted more. The release was so perfect, so needed. He needed more. He drew the blade across a second time, and felt himself panting in excitement. Excitement? He studied the blade now, watching the blood streaks drying across its surface. Was this what he'd come to? This was his happiness? Self-inflicted pain was so much better than what he normally felt. The only color he could find was in his own blood. This is what he'd sunk to. He was disgusting.

Mortimer placed the blade on the bare side of the metal bed frame. The veins that ran up and down his arms were visible through his jaundiced skin, and he could trace them with his fingers from palm to elbow. He ran an overgrown nail down the green tinted lines. The mutant found himself almost hearing them. They were begging him- pleading him to set them free. /Please set yourself free./ He rubbed his fingers on the smooth surface of the little razor blade. /Set us free./

What difference would it make? They would have one less freak to watch. One less mouth to not feed. Nobody would miss him. /You need to be free./ To the rest of the world, he was already dead. Mystique, Sabertooth, Magneto- they hadn't come and saved him. They never would. He'd spent so long thinking they would. /Free of all of this./ They thought he was dead. Why shouldn't he be? His life was a piece of shit. He was trapped. /Free of this forever./ He would find release. He could end his suffering. /Never again./ From the start, his life had been a waste. /Gone forever./

He lifted the blade from the bed, and positioned it over the largest vein. /Say goodbye to pain./ Mortimer pushed down, and pulled the little scrap of metal down his arm in one long motion. /Say goodbye to ridicule./ He moved to the next, mimicking the first motion perfectly. /Say goodbye to being a freak./

They were open. The blood ran in gushing rivulets from his arms to his clothes to the mattress and onto the floor. /Goodbye, loneliness./ He laid down in the puddles of crimson, feeling the unfamiliar warmth against his back. /Goodbye, sadness./ The gray room swirled around him, and he could feel the life lifting away from him. /Goodbye, life./

In a matter of moments, black patches were crawling into the corner of his eyes. Relief swept him up from the horrible cell as he subdued to the darkness.

/Goodbye forever./


End file.
